


Baby, be a Giant and Let the World be Small

by tuxedoblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuxedoblack/pseuds/tuxedoblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville is still only a boy when Severus discovers his hidden talent for the violin, and their secret creates a bond that lasts beyond the war, beyond anything Severus ever expected. The ending is SO bittersweet, this was basically just an excuse to lavish upon both of these well-deserving characters the tenderness I always wanted to read in the books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, be a Giant and Let the World be Small

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lifted from "Go Gentle" by Robbie Williams.

Thanks to the thick and deliberately foreboding stone walls of Snape's classroom and office, it took him months to properly identify the music barely filtering through his surroundings as anything beyond an auditory hallucination of some sort. It was not entirely implausible that such a thing would manifest in his mind as he sat grading papers by the light of several candles, late into the night; he'd always been a secret fan of Haydn. It was on a blustery winter night at Hogwarts that he finally came to recognize the faint strains of the man's Opus 9, solo violin movement 11 in D minor, as a reality and not a distant offering of internal background music to fill the silence of the Potions dungeon, courtesy of his brain.

With a creaking that did not interrupt the barely-audible flow of the music, Severus pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He felt rather foolish, prowling around his own office searching for the source of that haunting music, but there was something so expertly mournful and elegantly sweet in the tone of the violin being played _somewhere_ that he couldn't help himself. Sadly, muggle instruments were not common among the Hogwarts students - the purebloods were rarely taught how to play them, and the muggleborns and half-bloods were usually too preoccupied with their amazing new existences as witches and wizards to bother practicing at relics from their former lives. So now, something in Severus' chest panged at the high, delicate tones, the gracefully smooth melody.

He walked in a circle for a bit, pausing as he slipped through the high, rounded door at the far end of his office and into one of the long stone halls marked by several empty rooms. Previous Potions masters had used them for "punishing" insolent students, rarely Slytherins however. These days, they were left empty or used for storage, full of crusted, empty glass bottles and broken desks. All but for one, Severus realized suddenly, noting the warm yellowy glow of candlelight leaking out from under one of the thick wooden doors. The music grew louder as he approached, and he couldn't have explained why his heartbeat tripped a bit in his chest as he reached for the knob. The wind howled outside, but he couldn't hear it.

Neville Longbottom stood in the center of the room when he pushed open the door, a beautiful Cremona violin braced against one shoulder. It was clearly well-preserved, and Snape wondered at how immediately he'd noticed that - the gleaming dark-maple wood evenly polished, the strings carefully tuned. He'd arranged a tall black metal music stand to his front, where a set of sheet music was unfolded and marked with messy little notes in pencil. As his back was to Severus, he continued playing for a moment, unaware of his looming presence. But then his music stuttered, faltered, as he sensed it all at once, spinning around. His breath caught in his throat, but Severus couldn't even enjoy his sudden panic. He was too busy mourning the end of his music.

"Professor Snape," Neville said, a bit high-pitched. A rosy blush spread out over his cheeks that was abruptly appealing somehow. His fingers, clumsy again, curled protectively around his French bow as he lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to bother you, I just couldn't sleep and this place is fairly well-soundproofed...or, I thought it was, anyway." He babbled slightly, sucking his thick lower lip into his mouth anxiously. 

Severus stepped forward, closing the door. "You come here often," he said, stating a fact as opposed to asking a question. The room was well-lit with at least a dozen candles, probably nicked from the Gryffindor common room. A cup of tea, still steaming, sat on a low table that had once been scratched and broken in a storage room, but had since been repaired and polished with Neville's wand. Sheet music was scattered over spare chairs, spellotaped to the stone walls. Neville was in a pair of simple brown muggle trousers and a soft, thick ivory sweater, a bit loose even on his roundish frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Neville lowered his eyes. "For about six months now," he admitted sheepishly. "I found it while I was scrubbing the storage rooms in one of your detentions a while back, and it seemed like a good place to play my violin. I'm so sorry, I just didn't want to bother anyone in the common room...studying and all that, and besides, I'm not very good and I didn't want to..."

"You are," Severus interrupted, surprising them both. Neville gaped dumbly at him, his lovely, lush mouth hanging open a little.

"Sir?"

Severus cleared his throat. "I mean to say, you are not entirely talentless with that thing," he amended, gesturing to the violin. "It's no bother to me if you play in here, just don't leave any of those candles burning when you leave." This was a witless remark he knew, as they were surrounded by decidedly fireproof stone. He'd been trying to end the stilted conversation quickly so that his next words did not escape him, but then they did; "where did you ever learn to _play_ the violin, in any case? I've never heard anything of your parents or grandmother being musicians of any sort."

Neville's round, innocent eyes widened a little at this sudden interest in him, but finally he spoke. "No one really taught me, Sir. I loved the sound of the violin as a child - Gran bought me a muggle record player when I was small so that I could listen to Haydn and Elgar and Mozart on vinyls. The violins were always my favorites, the string sections. So when I was about five or six, when she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told her a violin. She said she couldn't afford lessons for me, but she bought me one anyway - figured I'd saw away on it for a while until I got bored, I reckon. But I...I fell in love, Sir. Nothing ever feels so right as when I'm playing or working with my plants, so I spent every Galleon I had on music texts and sheet music, and taught myself."

The story was disarmingly charming. A lonely, unexpectedly brilliant little boy - because his playing _was_ brilliant, even if Severus was loathe to admit it - teaching himself to find solace in the sweet ache of classical music simply because it felt right. Severus took another step toward Neville, ignoring his flinch. "You taught yourself," he repeated slowly. And then, thoughtfully, "to play like _that_."

"I know I'm rubbish, I just enjoy it so much."

Severus watched him for a moment, something strange stirring in his chest. The boy's music had evoked a wealth of long-forgotten feelings in him, and suddenly he looked every bit the gentle, promising thirteen-year-old he was, as opposed to the fat and annoying little fool he'd been previously in Snape's mind's eye. Hearing his music had exposed the heart of Neville to Severus, as all great music should when performed by genuine artists. Suddenly, he was a brave, lonely, kind young man with a past as tragic as Potter's, who had suffered through his pain and trials without being surrounded by throngs of admiring supporters and leftover monetary wealth. Neville had shouldered his burdens quietly, patiently, while still retaining his natural compassion and optimism, not indulging in frequent hormonal fits of temper and angst. Suddenly, Neville was infinitely impressive, endearing.

Suddenly, his light sprinkling of freckles was sweet instead of stupid-looking. His soft, kind eyes, which Severus had previously dismissed as dim and muddy, were now a brilliant blending of deep green and warm brown, like his beloved plants. His hair was chocolate-colored and as soft and fine as cornsilk, his crooked teeth adorable. His music had made him into someone new, someone who had always been there, just beyond the barrier of Severus' prejudiced perception. He was nearly bowled over with the revelation.

Neville fidgeted nervously. "...Professor?"

Severus cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said briskly, turning on his heel and marching out of the room without another word. He was afraid that Neville would be too unsettled to play any more that night, but as he sat down at his desk once more, the faint music began again. He breathed a sigh of immense relief that he couldn't have explained had he tried.

Severus couldn't have proven it, but he was almost sure that Neville had developed a habit of playing in his secret room on the nights in which he knew that he'd be grading papers or working in his office. It was often Haydn - he seemed to be a favorite - though there was also a particularly difficult Bach piece that seemed to be eluding him. His technical skill with it was not lacking, but often Severus would hear his playing falter, an exasperated sigh barely audible through the walls as he riffled frustratedly through his sheet music. Severus developed the ability to pick up on Neville's moods via the hints in his playing choices - Elgar and Wagner when he was feeling sad or lonely, Shostakovitch and Haydn when he was happy and calm, Mozart and Mendelssohn when he felt anxious.

Finally, one night about a month after his having discovered Neville's playing room, he seemed to give up. The dulcet tones of Bach fell to a sputtering heap from the air as Neville stopped playing, and a moment later Severus nearly jumped at the resounding crash that was loud even through the stone walls, the furious cry of, "Bloody hell! _Bloody hell_!"

He was on his feet and moving down the hall to Neville's secret room before he even knew what he was doing. He shoved open the now-familiar door to find Neville standing over his broken music stand, having pushed it over angrily. His chest was heaving, his cheeks flushed, his fists clenched. He was glaring down at the sheet music as if it had somehow offended him.

"Boy," Severus said sharply, struggling to maintain an air of annoyance. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Neville's gaze lifted and softened at the sight of him standing there, his shoulders sagging with defeat. "I can't play this right," he said sadly, gesturing to the music. His violin lay in its black case, abandoned but carefully put away. "I've been trying for days now, but I can't make it sound...proper, like proper Bach."

Severus approached cautiously, in case Neville erupted into another uncharacteristic fit. "And how should Bach sound when played properly?" he inquired quietly, surprised at his genuine curiosity. He was cultured enough to appreciate classical music, but being a pureblood with more than one Death Eater in his family's lineage, he'd never been exposed to it much.

Neville paused, his eyes growing distant. "...Aching," he finally said, settling upon the right word. "Like longing, sitting beside a window and watching the rain as you wait for someone you love to come find you. Hopeful, I reckon, but sad too. Like you've suffered so much, all alone, but also you know that someone out there is waiting to become a part of you. So you won't be alone anymore, maybe. That's how Bach should sound."

His simple eloquence and emotional understanding of his music reverberated right down to Severus' bones, and it took him a moment before he could speak. "Well," he finally said, "I don't know what to tell you, but do try to not smash that instrument of yours. Your Gran would make dinner quite unpleasant with the howlers she'd send your way for such an offense, I'm sure."

Neville glanced down at his violin with a lover's tenderness. "Oh no, I'd never hurt my violin," he promised. "My violin never hurt anyone, it's me who's failing her."

It had been a very, very long time since Severus had found himself touched by anything or anyone, but he was touched now. Instead of voicing this, he sat down in a spare chair after righting Neville's music stand. "Play," he said shortly.

Neville stared at him. "Sir?"

"Play, boy," Severus said with a bit more bite, pointing to the violin. "I know little of this music of yours, but perhaps an audience is what is required."

Neville hesitated a bit more, but at Snape's narrowed eyes, he hastened to lift his violin to his shoulder again. His eyes sank closed as he lowered his bow to the strings, his fingers stroking them instinctively to create the notes. After a while, Severus closed his eyes as well, both of them sinking into the music together. It was far more intimate and tender an experience than Severus was comfortable with, but the beaming smile Neville was sending his way when he opened his eyes made it all worth it. "I think that sounded better. I think you were right," he said shyly.

Severus stood up. "Then it seems I will be grading my papers in here from now on," he decided out loud, looking around and determining that there was indeed enough room in there for a desk. "The acoustics in here are better than those in my office, and far be it from me to deny Hogwarts its first-ever violin prodigy."

Neville blushed so prettily that Severus could have died. "I would love that, Professor," was all he said. "Thank you."

They met there at least once a week, sometimes twice. He was no kinder to Neville in Potions class, but sometimes while he was tearing into him for his latest muck-up at the cauldrons, Neville would flick his gaze up toward him with a nervous, secret little smile. Sometimes when this happened, Snape almost smiled back.

It was absolutely galling, but the boy was _charming_ at times. He brought little cakes and crackers from the kitchens to their music room, and sometimes he would sit on the opposite side of Severus' desk and take a break from playing, the two of them sipping tea and not talking much. He, unlike most of the students at Hogwarts, was capable of maintaining a comfortable, amiable silence when he felt safe with someone. It occurred to Severus that Neville was becoming dangerously close to feeling safe with _him_. Even worse, the feeling was increasingly mutual.

On one night, Neville yawned his way through a Stravinski piece that he nevertheless pulled off flawlessly, and then collapsed into his chair across from Severus. Severus didn't glance up until several silent minutes later, only to find that the boy was slumped in his seat, snoring softly, his mouth open a bit. It was such a trusting gesture, so open and sweet and innocent that Severus wasn't sure whether to vomit or tuck a blanket over him. It was completely inconceivable to him that anyone could allow themselves to just _fall asleep_ in front of someone like that, much less him, but he supposed people did it all the time. Aware that he was the anomaly here, he realized that he had a bit of a problem. He could not bring himself to wake Neville up - he looked so damn peaceful - but nor could he just leave him there to sleep in the dungeon rooms.

He rose to his feet, levitating Neville's violin case to a safe corner with his wand. When he scooped Neville up into his arms, he was surprised at his heft, his warm weight. He was nearly fourteen now, and growing into a gangly, broad-shouldered young man. His youthful softness was slowly melting away, though Severus doubted he would ever be an athletic sort. Still, he was becoming husky, solid and strong. A surge of protective affection welled up so powerfully inside of Severus that he had no idea what to do other than carrying Neville up to the student dorms, cradled in his arms. His legs dangled limply over the crook of Severus' elbow, his head lolling against his shoulder.

 _Merlin_ , Snape thought, utterly dismayed. _At some point, this blithering little fool has become nothing short of dear to me._

The fat lady blinked at him when he approached the Gryffindor common room entrance. "Password?" she said, slowly.

Snape snarled at her, and giggling, she swung aside. Neville's side of his dorm was predictable - a bit messy, potted plants and Herbology texts scattered everywhere. Trevor's glass cage sat in a corner. A few loose sheets of music were on his bed, and Severus pushed them aside to lay Neville down. It was then that he noticed that the notes were all handwritten - the boy had taken to composing as well, then. Something called "Concerto for Severus in D Minor," according to the scrawled title across the top.

It struck him all at once, that he'd inspired this piece, and he wished to Merlin that he knew how to read music. Instead, he pulled Neville's comforter over him, twitching a little when he stirred.

"Severus?" he mumbled, still half-asleep, and so Severus ignored the improper use of his given name.

"Go back to sleep."

"You carried me up here?" Neville slurred softly, curling up under his blanket.

"I did."

"Thank you."

Severus paused. Then, "Good night."

"Good night, Sir," Neville murmured, dropping off once more.

Three years later, deep into the summer months at Hogwarts, he found Neville in their music room again. He had indeed grown into a tall, stocky young man with big, callused hands and broad shoulders the way Severus had predicted, his soft brown hair cut short now, a bit of stubble sprouting over the lower half of his face. But those warm, gentle hazel eyes had not changed at all, the thick and expressive eyebrows, the slight softness of his cheeks. His face was spattered with blood from the Death Eater's latest attack, Harry and company out searching for Horcruxes, and Neville was one of the only people at Hogwarts who knew Severus' grand secret. He'd told him weeks ago - he was aware of the danger in it, but something in him could not bear the notion of this boy who had crept into his cold little heart so thoroughly over the years thinking that he'd rejoined the Death Eaters.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said simply, closing the door behind them. Neville was sitting in one of the old chairs, cleaning and healing a wound on his arm with his wand. The students had been hustled by Minerva into the Great Hall, and he wondered how long it would be before they noticed Neville missing. He looked up, smiled that dimpled smile that was still achingly familiar.

"Looking for me, then?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

"I just wanted to be alone for a bit," Neville explained, shrugging.

"So be it," Severus responded shortly, sensing a rejection of his company. Neville laughed.

"Oh, sit down. You know I wasn't talking about you. I've been worrying about you all day, I couldn't find you earlier."

"I had to consort with Bellatrix," he said, and they left it at that. They always did.

"Do you know what happened two days ago?" Neville said thoughtfully, and Severus considered the question. Nothing remarkable, not in terms of their present endeavors, anyway.

"No."

"I turned eighteen."

"Happy birthday, then. Forgive me, I was too busy betraying everyone to get you anything."

Neville's laugh was like a mouthful of warm butterbeer sliding down his throat. "There's nothing I want that you could have bought in any store, anyway," he pointed out cryptically.

"Surely the pleasure of my company is what you refer to?"

"An understatement. I would like a kiss."

In recent months, Neville's manner had evolved from shy and clumsy teenager to a decidedly more direct young man, but this was new. Severus stared. "A kiss," he said finally.

"Please." Neville finished with his arm and stood up, striding directly into Severus' personal space. He kept enough of a distance to avoid getting hexed, however; he knew Snape well enough by now.

"Has your mind been momentarily addled by the recent attacks? I am not a man who kisses anyone, Longbottom."

"My name is Neville," he said shortly, but then he reached up and brushed his rough fingertips over the creased skin of Severus' cheek.

"Young men such as yourself kiss pretty young women," Severus pointed out. "Or, hell, pretty young boys, if that's their fancy. Classmates and such. Not aging, bitter, bullying Potions professors. I know what the children say about my hair, my clothes, my face."

"And so," Neville pointed out softly, stepping even closer, "you should know that I am not like my classmates. And that I have always thought you beautiful."

"You were a lonely child..."

"And you are a lonely adult. Now we both are," Neville retorted, leaning in to nuzzle a bit at Severus' smooth jawline. 

"This is profoundly unethical."

"Yes yes, you are a bad man and I am a wicked little Lolita of a wizard. May I please have my kiss now?" Even as he spoke, he was peppering little pecks all over Severus' cheek, his jaw, fluttering his lips over his throat. He sighed from deep in his chest, but then his arms were sliding around Neville's sturdy form and something desperately starved and deeply vulnerable was opening up inside of him in a dizzying rush. Neville melted against him with a happy sound, raising both arms to drape them around Severus' neck. "Lovely man," he murmured, pressing his face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply. "I've wanted this so badly, since I was a bloody third year."

They came together with a soft, wet sound, their lips pressing against each other and their mouths opening hungrily into the kiss almost immediately. Neville's arms lifted to drape around Severus' neck, and his head swam with a sudden staggering desire. Neville's tongue slipped into his mouth, still shy but far more assertive than he'd ever been before, and Severus found himself delighted at the way he nipped affectionately at his lower lip before pulling away after several long minutes of deep kissing. "There's your kiss," he said, dismayed at how breathless he was. Neville laughed, leaning in to drop his head to Severus' shoulder, nuzzling against the side of his neck.

"I have loved you since my fourth year," he announced, almost casually. "Just thought you should know."

"I am an old, bitter, bullying bastard of a professor who has never given you anything more than an awkward companionship during your playing sessions and little short of absolute hell in Potions class," Snape reminded him. "I am looming and ugly and my past is so checkered you could cut a bloody tablecloth from it."

Neville laughed again, low and rich. "You see me," he said simply, not releasing Severus from his embrace. "You _see_ me."

"Your music exposed you," Severus said quietly, thoughtfully, turning his head to press his face against a mop of soft hair at his shoulder. "When I first walked in on you playing, it was like someone had whisked away the sheet shielding the true Neville Longbottom from the world, all those years."

"Whisking away my clothes would be an even more effective means to that end," Neville supplied helpfully, and Severus couldn't help it. He felt it welling up inside of him, and tried valiantly to swallow it back, but then he was laughing. _Laughing_ , nearly snorting with it, forcing Neville to step back as he bent over, struggling to compose himself. Neville was the second person in all the world to ever have made him laugh, the first being long dead, and it was such an alien sensation for him that he nearly bolted.

Instead, he allowed Neville to reach for the clasp at the front of his robes. "You're so damn lovely," he said softly, clicking it open and pushing the heavy black yards of fabric apart to reveal the clothing that Severus wore underneath - a simple black button-down shirt and gray trousers, clothing that none of his students had ever seen before. "Your _voice_ , you don't understand. I would lie awake at night, touching myself to the memory of it, reverberating in my bones every time you said my name. You think you're ugly." He paused, pushing Severus' robes away and lifting his hands to his face, brushing his fingertips over his cheeks and chin and nose like a blind man. "But you're like...a dream, like the best Beethoven pieces. Like a night-blooming Moonwillow just as it opens."

"Oh, _do_ shut up."

Neville laughed again. "Take off my sweater," he instructed him. "That would be very conducive to shutting me up."

Severus, for lack of a better plan, reached out and grasped the hem of Neville's sweater, lifting it over his head. Neville raised his arms obligingly, and then he was exposed from the waist up. His beauty had bloomed over the years, and Severus' breath hitched in his throat at the sight. He was sweetly, milky-pale all over, soft and rosy skin only blemished by the faint scars left behind from the latest attack on the school, a jagged slash across his left bicep and a round burn mark on his chest. Otherwise, he was flawless, and when Snape reached out to stroke his slightly-soft belly, he found his creamy skin so hot and silky that his mouth watered. Neville's mouth hung open a bit, his eyes round as he watched him.

"Still a bit pudgy," Neville admitted sheepishly, lowering his eyes. "Working on it."

Severus hesitated, horrifyingly close to flooding forth with lavish praise for the boy's succulent flesh, half-delirious with wanting now. Luckily, he held back at the last moment and instead said, "Bend over the desk."

Neville blinked at him, his curious fingers stilling at the collar of Severus' shirt, where he'd been slowly unbuttoning buttons. "What am I, your whore?" he demanded, lifting his chin. "I won't be shagged and forgotten you know, you're stuck with me now. We're going to do this properly."

He pulled away Severus' shirt before he could protest, revealing a wealth of fair skin. The tops of his shoulders and arms were dusted lightly with freckles, which Neville found unspeakably charming. He took a moment, running his hands palm-flat up Severus' slender chest, smiling faintly at the twitch that jolted through the older man's body when he tugged gently on his nipples in succession.

"Done this before, have you?" Severus demanded, vaguely jealous. Neville arched an eyebrow.

"Just a bit of fooling around with Dean," he said with a shrug. "Nothing serious, snogging and a bit of frottage. I let him wank me off, once. But I think I can figure this bit out on my own." His brow creased with an adorable focus as he sank to his knees with a surprising grace, reaching for the zip on Severus' crisp trousers. All the blistering, aching longing of his youth filled him to bursting again, as he reached into Severus' trousers and curled his fingers around his thick, blood-hot cock. It jerked a bit against his palm as he pulled it out, all but drooling for it. The deep musk of him rose in the air, the scent of it driving Neville half-insane. He lost all capacity for witty banter in that moment, reduced to a starved, weak, helpless thing on his knees. He tugged it loose, yanked down Severus' trousers, so lost in this mindless place that he pressed his face against it without thinking, gripping it in his hand and rubbing the leaking head all over his cheeks and swollen mouth.

Severus gaped down at him. "... _Merlin_ , boy," he rasped. Neville was too far gone though, whimpering a bit as he finally opened his mouth, slurping down half of Severus' cock with a greedy abandon. He choked a bit and he didn't give a damn, stroking his tongue along the thick vein running down the underside of it, the slick, searing flesh so good he could have cried. The bitter salt of precome leaking down the back of his throat made him feel desired in a way he never had before, and his hand slipped down between his thighs as he suckled, learning the new tastes and textures against his tongue. He curled his fingers around his cock, twisting his wrist and stroking with quick, short jerks. His head bobbed back and forth, his eyes rolled back. He was drooling, saliva and precome spilling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

Severus shuddered from his shoulders to his knees when Neville hollowed his cheeks, a wet slurping sound echoing between them as he braced both hands against Severus' thighs to steady himself. He felt alive, he felt new, raw and weak and willing. He felt blown open to the hollows of his chest with this thing that he'd been denying himself for so long, this thing that had the potential to fill him up. He drew back when he felt Severus go tense and quiet above him, his cock jerking in his throat. Neville was valiantly attempting to swallow him whole, but he'd only managed about half of him so far - Severus was more well-endowed than he'd anticipated. With one hand, he stroked the soft, hot skin of his balls with trembling fingers, pressing them into his palm and kneading very gently. He was so vulnerable there, he thought with a kind of reverence.

He looked a mess, lips swollen and red and shiny with precome, his eyes glassed-over and his cheeks flushed. He tipped his head back to meet Severus' eyes and said softly, curling his fingers around the base of his beautiful cock, "Come on my face."

Severus stared down at him, a soft sound rising from the back of his throat despite himself. Neville stared back. "On my face," he repeated, in case he hadn't been audible.

"Filthy, beautiful boy," Severus muttered, and all it took was a few more firm, quick tugs on his cock before he was obliging. Neville sighed, a bone-deep joy he'd never known before welling up inside of him. The first hot spurt of come hit him right in the mouth, and he parted his lips to catch a bit of it, his eyes sinking closed as he swallowed. The rest spilled across his cheeks, nose and forehead in a handful of bursts, slick and warm, and he knelt there and took it so pliantly that Severus had to marvel at where this creature had been hiding all this time. Neville had never felt so beautiful, licking his lips happily and accepting the handkerchief that Severus pressed to his eyes to wipe away the come there a moment later, so that he could see. He hated to wipe the rest of it away, but he couldn't just let it dry there on his skin, and so he took a moment to clean up his face.

When he rose to his feet, his legs tingled with numbness, and Severus reached to grip his upper arms with both hands. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the tall desk chair where he used to grade papers to the accompaniment of Neville's violin. When Neville did, sinking tiredly into it, he stepped in front of him and reached into his lap, only to find Neville's erection wilted and soft against his thigh. Neville had pushed off his trousers at some point, but he was no longer hard, and Severus experienced a rare and brief moment of insecurity. He _was_ far too old for the boy, perhaps he'd been unaware of the reality of his age. Perhaps he'd been expecting a fit young man's body behind the lines in his face and the stray gray hairs sprouting from his head. He hated them, and it was a little-known secret that he would charm them to his natural black every morning - it seemed more intimidating, somehow.

Neville laughed when he noticed the stricken expression on Severus' face. "I already came, love," he said tenderly, pointing to the wet spot on the floor he'd made. "Just before you did."

He'd come all over the floor in his feverish state, Severus realized, touching himself to the sensation of sucking him off. The realization rushed through him in a dizzying wave, and Neville reached out for him just as an enormous crash reverberated through the halls of Hogwarts all the way down to the dungeons. 

"We'd best get up there," Neville said with a sigh, standing and pulling on his trousers. Severus followed suit, and the two of them shared a nervous smile before exiting their music room. They reached the stairs that led up to the bottom floor of the school, and Neville's hand shot out to grab Severus' wrist.

"Hold on to tonight," he said quietly to him, meeting his eyes. "No matter what happens up there. We'll live through this, Severus, and eventually I am going to take you out to dinner."

"You most certainly will not," Severus pointed out, but they were already rushing up the stairs to confront the carnage above their heads.

Three years after it all ended, and Severus occasionally wondered at the fact that he still woke up every morning with Neville's soft, sleep-steady breathing stirring his hair. He'd assumed that the poor boy's infatuation with him had been born of desperation, loneliness and the sense of his own impending death, that once he was ejected out into the real world and surrounded with young people as fit and charismatic as he'd grown to be, he would forget all about his youthful passion for his ancient, ugly potions professor.

This had not been the case. The smoke had cleared at Hogwarts, they'd buried their dead and mourned as the students and staff left alive had returned to their homes to recuperate. Some had returned to finish their educations, others had not. Some married, some went mad, some abandoned the wizarding world entirely in favor of what they considered a safer muggle existence. Neville had spent several days at St. Mungo's, getting various wounds patched up, and upon receiving notice that he'd awakened one day, Severus had gone to see him.

He'd been sitting up in his bed when he'd arrived. "'Bout bloody time," he'd scolded him fondly. "If you were any sort of lover, you would have been alternatively sleeping and sobbing at my bedside, you know."

Severus stared at him. "...Boy, have you lost your sensibilities, or do they have you drugged with something," he finally said.

Neville winked, and handed over a glossy real estate catalog. "Page seven," he instructed, and Severus flipped it open to find a listing for a lovely and secluded little house on the ocean front, all gray skies and foaming surf, far north. "I'm eighteen now, so my inheritance is technically mine according to Gran," he reminded him. "Mum and Dad arranged it when they became aurors, I suppose they were always aware of the dangers. They didn't want me to be left with nothing." A tone of aching slipped into his voice, and Severus sat beside the bed and reached for his hand. "I really ought to take you out to that dinner before I ask this sort of thing, all the magazines would tell me that I'm moving too fast."

"Are you proposing that we live together?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow. Neville smiled sleepily and reached out to run a hand over his hair.

"You've been letting yourself go gray," he said softly. "It's so handsome on you. You've cut your hair, too. And your glasses."

The glasses Severus had resisted for years, using a magnifying spell to increase his sight for a few hours during class time and when he read his books. Looming, terrifying monsters of legend did not _wear_ glasses, he'd reasoned. But he was retired now, free to abandon the image he'd cultivated so carefully for so long. "I am an old man, Neville," he reminded him, and Neville squeezed his hand.

"If I've learned anything from the war," he began, but then he yawned, and Severus pressed a gentle hand against his forehead.

"Sleep. I'll be back tomorrow, we will talk," he promised. Neville closed his eyes.

"Stay until I'm out?" he asked, and Severus nodded wordlessly.

Now the house was theirs. They apparated into Hogsmeade about once a week or two for dinner together or with friends, and Neville's little garden out front had bloomed and blossomed its way to a state of sprawling grandeur, taking up much of the land in front of the house until the shore met the soil. He liked to wake up early and walk along the jetty, aware that Severus would watch him from the kitchen window. The place was a quiet one, peaceful. Neville murmured in his sleep sometimes, and sometimes he would twitch and moan with a nightmare. Severus had learned to roll over to him when this happened, to press a warm and soothing hand against his belly, a tender kiss to his temple. He always quieted then.

Harry and Hermione had offered their blessing. "After all we've been through..." Harry had said thoughtfully, when Neville had invited several friends to the house for dinner, "...anything that makes you happy, mate. I mean that. I mean, it's a bit _strange_ , but who am I to judge. Be happy."

Ron had gaped at them. "You understand that he's old enough to be your _father_ , yeah?" he'd demanded, earning a smack on the arm from Hermione.

Neville still played his violin, often when Severus couldn't sleep. On his sixty-sixth birthday, Neville asked what he wanted, and he said, "Play me my song. The one you wrote for me back in school."

Neville obliged. He did so on every birthday of Severus' from then on, until shortly after his fingers began to cramp up with age as well - he was forty-six now, Severus sixty-seven. The older they became, the less the age difference between them mattered, until the end of it all. Seventy-three years old, Severus had insisted upon not being committed to a hospital as his much-burdened heart began to give out on him. "I will die at home," he'd said after the doctor's visit. "In my bed." Neville, still only fifty-two and unbearably handsome, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth somehow only compounding his beauty, had swallowed his blistering pain at the notion and nodded.

He sat beside him until well after his last hour, curled up in their bed with his head on his chest. It was strange; when other people looked at Neville these days, Severus knew, they saw a post-middle-aged man with soft, almost-curly brown hair that was thinning a bit, slight laugh lines around his warm, tired hazel eyes and smiling mouth, a bit of a paunchy belly. But when he looked at him, he still saw shades of the darling, anxious, brilliant boy he'd once known. Sometimes, especially when he laughed or stuttered a bit the way he still did on occasion, even after all this time, Severus had to pause and look at him twice to make sure that he had not fallen prey to a time-reversal hex.

Neville left the window open after the doctor's last home visit, during which he'd informed them that Severus was unlikely to last the night. Oddly though, Severus did not feel particularly pained or drowsy or half-addled the way he'd expected. He felt still inside, in a way he never had before, calm and ready. He watched Neville push the window open to welcome in the sounds of the sea outside, the faint lapping and _woosh_ of the surf, the calls of the seabirds, the salty air. This was the sort of death that he'd never expected to be allowed, peaceful and quiet in his bed with someone he loved. This was Neville's final gift to him, he realized, after all he'd already done for him. "Neville," he said softly, his voice steady and low despite the thudding of his heart that was slowly declining. His blood pressure was dropping, his eyes sinking to half-mast as Neville went to him.

"I'm here, love," Neville said, dropping into the chair beside his bed and taking one of Severus' hands into both of his. Severus noted the catch in his voice and rolled his head to the side to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Asking for his song now would have been sickeningly cliche, he knew. Besides, he wanted to die feeling Neville's hands in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said. "Don't mourn me for too long. Move on, love again. Remember that it's what I want for you."

Neville shook his head, but didn't waste time arguing. They had so little time left, now. "I don't know how I would have survived the war without you," he said instead, leaning over to press a tender kiss to Severus' temple. "I love you."

"And I you," Severus responded simply, in spite of the way his entire body was beginning to feel light all over, as if he was dissolving into webs of spider silk to be caught and lifted away on the air. It had been so long, since he'd alternated between bullying and ignoring that fat little boy who forever mucked up his potions in class. He'd come so damn close to having made the worst mistake of his life, in dismissing him. He closed his eyes, sagging back against his pillows. "Remember me," he murmured, his words only half-intelligible. 

"Until my last hour," Neville promised, grateful at least that Severus had closed his eyes, so that he did not have to witness the copious tears spilling from Neville's. They dampened the collar of his shirt, wetting his cheeks. He rested his free hand against Severus' chest, over his failing heart, willing it desperately to become strong and healthy again. But its beat stuttered to a standstill under his palm, offering one last weak _pa-pump_ before falling silent and still. Neville's anguished sob finally echoed through the rickety walls of their beautiful little house, rising in pitch until he was nearly screaming. The birds outside heard him, echoed his cry. He petered off into choked, helpless weeping after a moment, falling forward to press his face against the still-familiar sweater that Severus had been wearing.

It still smelled the same. It was enough to destroy him, but then, it wasn't. Severus had made him strong over the years, had taught him all about sacrifice and nobility and bearing up under unspeakable pain. A moment later, Harry's voice carried from the living room, where he'd flooed his head into their fireplace. "Nev?" he was calling out. "How is he? Where are you?"

Slowly, Neville rose to his feet and stumbled into the living room. Harry knew as soon as he saw his face, and he sighed. 

"It's over," Neville said quietly. 

"Bloody hell," Harry said. "I'm so sorry, Neville. Hold up, we'll be there in a second."

And then they were, people apparating into his kitchen all at once. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Molly, who came bearing armfuls of food. Arthur arrived shortly after, with a mediwizard and witch from St. Mungo's who discreetly and quietly apparated Severus' body from his bed back to the hospital for treatment. He nearly screamed again when he saw them draping a sheet over Severus' face and body, but Molly saw his expression and wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth was what he needed to let go, and he sobbed on her shoulder for a good twenty minutes. Hermione and Ron took to putting the food away in the kitchen while Harry and Arthur sat around the living room, awkwardly patting Neville's shoulder.

"Dying of old age, in his bed with the love of his life...darling, it's the best way to go," Molly tried, stroking his hair. "He worshiped you, I can't think of any better way to die."

Neville could only nod wordlessly, and Molly stayed with him long into the night, after he'd sent the others home to get some rest. "You don't have to," he'd whispered hoarsely to her, but she'd only pulled a thin blanket over them on the couch, tucking him into her arms like he was a little boy again.

"Nonsense, I am not leaving you here alone," she insisted. "If you'd rather come back to the Burrow with me..."

"I can't be around too many...I can't with the noise and people," he struggled to explain. "I need to be surrounded with him, he's in these walls."

"I understand, darling." Molly gently laid him down on the couch, aware that there was no way he could have slept in his and Severus' bed that night. She took the guest room, as Neville had insisted upon it earlier. He managed to sleep for about two hours, but around 2 AM, Severus called for him from the shore.

He pried apart his bleary eyes and rolled off the couch, padding across the living room floor and quietly heading outside to the beach. Things were quiet and still, but Severus waited for him in the lapping of the waves and the soft rustling of dry seaweed tumbling over the wet sand. The moon was glowing heavy in the inky sky, dripping milky light into the dark water. He knew were to go, where Severus would meet him. He walked up to the jetty, the long, low wall of rock that rose from the water several yards into it. There he was, in the illumination and the salt flavoring the air.

"Hello, love," he said quietly to the breeze and the tiny crab trying valiantly to scale the jetty from a rock at its base. He'd released Severus to the sea, he knew. Now he could always come back here to be with him again, and someday he'd sink under the waves for good and rejoin him in their bed at home on the other side. He settled onto his back, the rock rough against his shoulders, folded his hands over his belly and watched the moon until it gave way to a pearl-gray dawn.

End.


End file.
